The Tale of Fritjov the Failure
by DeadlyGreenLeaf
Summary: This is the tale of a lowlife bandit who would one day run The Green Road with his gang the Scarlet Scars.


Greetings. This is the tale of Fritjov the Failure. This story takes place two years before the death of Emperor Uriel Septim VII in 3E 433.

Warning: This story does not star Lucian Lachance or Martin Septim. I called them both but they had other gigs falling in love with OFC's in other stories. Also there is beautiful foul language, a healthy dose of violence, plenty of drug use and many adult situations.

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion or the characters found in the wonderful game.

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**T**he rotted wooden floor of the skooma den in the middle of Bravil creaked loudly as Flanna and a wealthy shop owner, Daenlin, came down the stairs. The red-faced Bosmer gave Flanna a pinch on the rear and panted "Always a pleasure, my lady". He then quickly exchanged some septims with Trenus and stumbled down the stairs leading to the mucky streets of Bravil.

The skooma den in Bravil was a smelly place. A horrible place. It stood three stories up above the mainstreet and was the dingy home to the addicts, harlots, thugs, hustler's, thieves and other two bit low-life's. The main room was furnished with shabby beds, boarded up windows, puddles of ale and ancient tables cluttered with nothing that could be considered legal. A thick haze of grey smoke kept you from seeing too much and that was a good thing. Derelicts lounged about with their minds wasted by drugs, tramp's earned their septims upstairs on the creaky beds and all was run by an Imperial named Trenus Duronius. If you wanted skooma, felldew, haze-weed, moon sugar or a night with a lady of pleasure and you were too far from the Imperial city, he was the man to talk to.

Flanna flopped down on a deteriorated bed against the wall with the other strumpets and let out a tired sighed "That makes three, ladies. One more and I'm off for the night." She took a swig from a skooma flask and wiped her mouth on her dark velvet dress. She was easily the prettiest of them and was a favorite among the men who found themselves coming day after day to the den. She could not wait to get out of the hot, sweaty and foul skooma den and get a nice bottle of cheap wine.

The eldest of the girls perked up. "Your lucky Flan, if I wasn't so old I would be out of 'ere in a heartbeat justs likes you."

"Oh hush up Kulwa; you still get your customers." Flanna sighed, trying to ignore the guilt trip her so-called sister was placing on her. She could not wait till she had enough septims to go to the big city. She would be a high-class courtesan of the Imperial court and be done forever with the mere shop owners and merchants humping away on top of her. They called her Flanna the Dreamer, but she knew she had the looks and the class to get out of Bravil. The dreamer straightened her dark wavy hair and gazed across the room at the low-life's and addicts.

There was Reistr the Rotted who was a degenerate nord who had crabs (or ticklebritch as some call it) and didn't keep it a secret. Leaning against the stairs was Shady Sam; he sold every thing a criminal could ever want and he also had dreams of hitting it big in the Imperial city. In the center of the room there was a Khajiit named R'vanni who was chatting with Trenus, he had the worst skooma addiction that she knew of and she knew plenty. In the far corner there was a man sitting alone at a table. He looked like a charcoal sketch on beer-stained paper. She recognized him as an ex-bandit named Fritjov.

Fritjov the Failure is what folks in Bravil called him. How he got the name Flanna wasn't too sure but besides the beggars uniform he was wearing he wasn't that bad looking. He had the traditional Imperial cropped, black hair and he had weary, brown eyes that had probably seen the worst Cyrodiil had to offer. He arrived at Bravil two months ago and instantly claimed the den as his home. She could tell he was hiding from someone, maybe the law or the Brotherhood, by the way he always looked nervous when the door opened. Flanna had been with him before and he wasn't a bad lay as long as he wasn't skoomed out. Plus she always did prefer Imperial men.

Fritjov rubbed his cloudy eyes and let out a sigh of defeat. He was 25, unmarried, pauperized, and still going nowhere in life. He had just broken into the house below the den that belonged to some Altmer and stole an ebony emerald ring out of a jewelry box. The shop owner at the Fair Deal, Nilawen, only gave him 80 septims for it. _Fair deal my ass _he thought. Fritjov cringed at the idea of crawling back to Black Brugo for a second chance. _I've burned my last bridge, nowhere to go but down from here._

He sipped the sweet skooma and let it swish around in his mouth savoring the high it was giving him. _Escape from this imp-shit hole. Escape from the smell of sex, smoke, vomit and worse_. _I need to stop coming here. Damn skooma, can't go more than a day with out it._

"Hey Fritjov, looking for some company? You look like you could need some cheering up." He heard a sugar-coated voice call to him. Fritjov cracked open his watery eyes and watched a young woman walk over and plop down on his weary legs.

_Flanna_. _What a shame_, Fritjov thought to himself. _She is too pretty for this place._

"There is nothing I want more than to lay with you, my dear, but I am short on gold." He admitted. "I need to save my septims if I'm going to be staying at the Lonely Suitor later on."

"Being lonely is no way to go through life, my love." she pouted. She leaned closer to his ear and whispered "How much do you have, handsome?"

"38 septims last time I checked." he lied with a charming, lop-sided grin. _Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad, _he hoped.

She remained still on his lap and flashed a hand gesture to Trenus who was talking to his lackey Gelephor. The balding man looked at Fritjov with his baggy eyes and nodded in approval. "Good enough it would seem. Follow me love." she whispered seductively.

She stood up and swayed her shapely hips towards the noisy stairs and gave Fritjov her perfected come hither look. Fritjov guzzled the rest of his skooma and stumbled towards the stairs. Just as he laid his dirty fingers on the hand rail, the door slammed open and a gust of humid, smelly air whipped through the smoky den. He looked at the doorway and cursed his luck.

Standing in the doorway was the Bravil Guard Captain Amitz Lerus. He gleamed like a beacon of trouble in his polished chain mail armor. Amitz was as crooked as they came. He let the skooma den carry on with its shady business as long as he got a cut of the gold. The fact that he demanded free bottles of skooma and the service of the ladies almost daily added insult to injury.

He glared across the room and found the man he was looking for. "Trenus, there you are! I believe you owe me some money, my friend, you forgot to pay me last Loredas. Best not keep me waiting, bottom feeder, I don't have all day." He said with a smug look on his clean shaven face.

The blood drained from Trenus's face." Of course, of course. I wouldn't forget to pay you m-m-my lord, just a moment." The flustered man scrambled up the stairs to the chest where he kept his earnings.

Amitz surveyed the filthy den and grimaced at the lack-wits lounging about until his eye caught the curves of a young woman standing mid-way up the stairs. "Flanna my dear, you are looking most beautiful this day." He bellowed in a dignified voice.

Flanna almost cringed but she caught herself and smiled nervously. "Thank you, my lord. You are very kind, my lord."

The Guard Captain approuched the raven haired beauty and shoved Fritjov out of his way. "How about you accompany me back to the guard barracks, I would be most pleased to have you stay the night in my quarters instead of this crummy, lack-house."

Flanna tried to hide the fear in her eyes. She had heard stories about the captain being very rough and abusive. Flanna's best friend, Cassia never came back to the den after the Guard Captain took her to the castle. She opened her dry mouth to respond but was interrupted by a voice behind Amitz.

"Too late my lord, I claimed her moments before you barged in here. Maybe after I've had my lay she can come with you." Fritjov said calmly. He felt the skooma-induced rage bubbling behind his eyes. He started to feel his muscles growing and the Captain seemed to shrink. He knew from many bloody encounters that the stuff was clouding his judgment and he also knew he should close his mouth before he said something truly offensive. "By the look on her face, it would seem that she would rather sleep with a slimy 'ole goblin." _Too late. _

Fritjov immediately regretted uttering the insult. He started to back away from the towering man.

_What the hell did_ _I just say?!? I don't even have a weapon! Goddamned moon sugar has rotted my brain!!_ He panicked.

A long silence filled the den. Flanna's eyes opened wide in disbelief. She started to babble. "Pay him no mind my lord, his mind is wasted by the crazy-drink. He doesn't even know what he is saying. I would love to join you…"

Before she could finish Amitz had exploded into action. He punched Fritjov directly in the nose and the sickening sound of cartilage crunching almost made her faint. Amizt continued to punish Fritjov after he had fallen to the wooden floor with savage kicks that were unbecoming of a noble Guard Captain. The bleeding Imperial crawled towards the exit in a desperate attempt to flee the savage beating, begging for forgiveness the entire way. After receiving many kicks to the groin he finally managed to open the door. As he stood up on the balcony he was shoved down the stairs and he landed in a mangled, defeated heap at the bottom. As a commotion arose two guards rushed down the muddy mainstreet to see what had happened.

Amitz called down from the balcony to the guards victoriously. "Throw this deadbeat in the dungeon Kennard! Make sure he learns his place in this world and doesn't leave until I say."

Kennard grabbed the moaning rag doll and hollered" Yes sir, Guard Captain! Warren get his other arm."Kennard's partner hoisted Fritjov onto his feet and the two dragged him to the dungeon, where a night in the torture chamber awaited him.

Four hours later Frit was coming off his high and he was wondering what the hell had happened. The image of a chain mail glove crashing into his face popped hurtfully into his head and he started to panic. The pain in his blue, swollen and crumpled nose made getting a sense of where he was nearly impossible. He looked around and sighed. A Bravil cell, not as nice as Skingrad or Anvil but not the worse he had stayed in. The cell was dark, cold and infested with all sorts of insects and rats. It had a film of dirt and grime that covered the walls and floor, but the worse thing was the rancid odor coming from down the hallway. _I don't even want to know what that smell is. _Fritjov jumped when he heard a sound of cackling coming from the other side of the small cell.

"Got ya in 'ere for attackin dah Capdan eh? Hahahah…what ah fool! Yer goin ta die fer sure." An old man whistled through missing teeth. "Damn skoomer-heads, rots yer brains it does, heh heh."

Fritjov cursed his luck having to share a cell with a weasel like Cosmus the Cheat. He knew Cosmus from his days as a Black Bowmen. Cosmus left the gang when he contracted the collywobbles from some skank in Leyawiin. He had become a beggar shortly after. "Watch your tongue you old rat or I'll rip it out of your wretched, greasy head." Fritjov retorted.

Fritjov stood up and cursed at the pain in his nose. He knew that Amitz would soon come along and put the torture room to good use. He had to escape somehow, but how? He had escaped from Bruma once using a hidden lock pick but he had none on him this time. His thoughts were interrupted by clinking footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Sit down Fritjov!" shouted Folkvar the jailer from across the hallway. "Your lucky Amizt didn't gut you like a fish, scum-gut. I heard as soon as he is done diggling that whore he is coming down here to put your nuts between a hammer and an anvil." he snorted.

Fritjov felt a cold sweat come over him as he slumped back to the floor. He cursed his luck a second time and wondered what he did to the Nines to make them hate him so much. All his life he had been pushed around. Pissed on by those with power. His one chance at hitting the big time he blew away thanks to his addiction to the skooma. He could have been Captain of the Black Bows if he didn't lose his temper and curse out the boss and totally screw up a simple caravan robbery.

Oh well, he thought, no time for crying now. He had to get out of here, and he had to do it soon. "Think, think, think," he whispered to himself. How could he get out of his cell and escape with his balls still attached? He tried to concentrate, but the waves of nausea and pain clouded his brain. Fritjov rested his head in his blood incrusted hands and tried not to break down and cry.

"Hahah no use prayin now Fritjov the Failure!" Cosmus wheezed. Fritjov looked up at the wretched pile of rags and boney limbs. He hated that title more than anything, the word "failure" made his blood boil. He earned the title by screwing up a simple caravan robbery so bad that the Guards of Leyawiin still joke about to this day. Fritjov couldn't even step foot in the southern city without being pointed at with howling laughter.

"I told you to shut your gob before I come over there and….."Fritjov stopped suddenly when a brilliant idea popped into his head. A devious smile crossed his face and he shouted "I'm going to break your brittle neck old man!!"

Fritjov sprung across the cell and began slamming the old man's head against the brick wall. Cosmus began to wail in pain and screamed for help as his skull began cracking against the cold stone. Fritjov kept banging the old man's head until he heard Folkvar the jailer running down the hallway behind him. He heard the jailer fumble his keys into the lock. _I only get one chance at this…I have to time it perfectly._

As soon as Fritjov heard the cell door swing open he jumped backwards with all of his might. His back hit the cell door and Folkvar was crushed between the door and the cell bars. As the jailer howled in pain and slumped to the floor Fritjov started to kick the man in the face. When he was sure that the Folkvar was dead he stopped kicking and started removing the jailer's uniform.

Minutes later, Fritjov was halfway out of Bravil limping and dressed as a guard. "This is crazy. What am I doing? I've gone to far this time." He muttered under his breath as he approuched the main gate out of Bravil. He pulled the chain mail helmet as low as he could and hoped he could make it past the two guards at the gate without causing alarm. As he reached the gate he nodded his head to Kennard and Warren and kept his head low.

"Finally! About time you showed up!" Kennard exclaimed. "I thought I would never be relieved. Oh well come on Warren, lets get some sleep. If were lucky that wench Flanna will still be in the barracks." He said with an excited grin. Fritjov just nodded and said good night. After a few moments he opened the gate and ran across the bridge, stole a horse from the Bay Roan Stables and made his way south towards Leyawiin. _Great, now I can add horse thievery to insulting a guard, breaking out of jail and two counts of murder._

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Author's Note: 

Thank you for reading Chapter one. Please write a review because I need them very, very badly. Please tell me what sucked or could be better and tell me if you think of Fritjov. I'll have chapter 2 up in no time. If you find anything that doesn't fit into the timeline or anything else thats off just let me know in your review. Just as a side note Amitz Lerus is the father of Viera Lerus who shows up in the main quest as the Captain of the City Watch. Also Trenus is not the owner of the Skooma den (there also aren't any prostitutes in the game) but i needed somone and he looked the type. Thanks again, Laters.


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